


Peeping Stiles

by KaiserKittenWalzer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:52:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1940010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiserKittenWalzer/pseuds/KaiserKittenWalzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac pays a visit to the Stilinksi house to discuss why Stiles is so interested in his locker room antics. Scott isn't happy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Visitor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [3White_Mage3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3White_Mage3/gifts).



> I'd like to dedicate this to 3White_Mage3 who left me my very first comment ever, giving me encouragement to keep going in my writing. I wouldn't have gone beyond the first chapter without the kind words of a perfect stranger.
> 
> I'd also like to thank my beta frumpyspoon412.

The alarm clock sitting on the nightstand a few feet from Stiles' bed went off precisely at 6:30 AM. It blared an ear-grating noise Stiles found so annoying that he tolerated it precisely because it got him up to turn the damn thing off. _Shit, am I tired_ , thought Stiles. _Just need to stay up for a few minutes and I'll wake up_. Stiles had been up late into the night, really, the morning, researching a follow-up essay to his previously not-so-well-received history of the male circumcision. He knew he was supposed to be learning about Economics in Econ, but despite that admission, Stiles liked to think Coach learned from him.

Clad in his green plaid pajama bottoms and dark gray t-shirt, Stiles padded over to to his computer, _This day is going to be a beast_ , Stiles thought, as he sat down to check his email. The practice was a force of habit, and Stiles realized it was probably silly, considering any actual messages meant someone had to have been up at a more absurd hour than even he'd been.

As the monitor warmed up, a sudden knock at the door startled Stiles, who quickly jumped up, darting first to the left, then to the right, in his characteristically spastic fashion. Stiles paused and collected himself long enough to realize that either direction around the chair would lead him to the bedroom door that he needed to open. One deep breath later, and he managed to compose himself enough to walk across the room like a normal person.

“What is it, dad?" Stiles whined in a nasally, plaintive voice as he opened the door. Sheriff Stilinski was leaning on the door frame with his forearm, clearly lacking the time, but somehow not the patience. “Hey Stiles, I have to head off to work, but your friend just stopped by and asked if he could see you.”

Stiles looked confused. “Who's here?” he asked, completely lost as to who it might be. “A guy named Isaac,” his dad responded with a shrug, “Said he was presenting a project with you today and wanted to come over before school. He's waiting downstairs for you.” His father pushed himself off the door frame and turning to leave down the hallway added, “I've got to get to work. Stay out of trouble!” _Thanks, dad_ , Stiles thought, quickly trying to figure out how to deal with his definitely made-up partner for this definitely non-existent school project.

Stiles closed the door and locked it. He suddenly felt a moment of temporary relief, as if closing a door were really going to help him out. _Wait a minute_ , Stiles thought, _why am I so scared?_   He didn't have a great rapport with Isaac, but besides some really unnecessary aggression on Isaac's part, Stiles couldn't think of a good reason for why the other teen should be angry with him.  Yeah, he'd seen him in the showers with Danny the day before, but who cared?  It was an honest mistake.  _This is my house_ , thought Stiles, who started to feel indignant. _You don't call someone before 9 AM, much less show up at their house before then_ , he pontificated to no one but himself. _I don't have anything to feel worried about_ , he thought in a voice that sounded confident in his head, though he only half-believed his own internal blustering.

Then, there was a knock at the door. _Oh shit!_ Stiles thought, immediately losing any false sense of confidence he'd managed to muster. Stiles didn't know where he could go or what he could do. _Okay_ , Stiles thought, _It's not a big deal, I'll just open the door and see what he wants. He's obviously not in a bad mood, because he's managed to be calm enough to let my dad leave him in the house with me_. Stiles, who finally convinced himself that everything _might_ be okay, unlocked the door slowly, fearing that at even the sound of the lock turning, the door might burst open on him. He inched the door open, and in the small gap he had cautiously made between the frame and the door, the light from the bedroom window illuminated his unwelcome werewolf caller. “Hey Isaac,” Stiles said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Can I come in?” asked Isaac. He didn't sound angry, nor did he try to force the door open. Stiles was somewhat taken aback by how nice the other teenager sounded. “Ummm, yeah okay, I guess,” Stiles responded hesitantly, shrugging as he stepped to the side, finally letting his unexpected guest through.

“Thank you,” Isaac said, as he passed through. He was dressed in slim-cut, dark blue jeans and a forest green, deep-cut v-neck. His defined pecs, though, were unnoticeable because of one of his intolerable cardigans, which, for the most part, concealed the thin cotton shirt beneath it. Despite his unusually diplomatic nature which had thrown Stiles completely off-guard, Isaac could still not seem to mask the confidence he had so recently acquired with his wolf powers. His stride into the room told Stiles that whatever the reason for Isaac's muted behavior, it was simply that: muted, and for a reason.

Stiles guessed he'd better break the awkward silence, though he didn't quite know why considering it was _his_ goddamn bedroom and it was barely past 6:30 in the morning. “So, ummm... what brings you around,” Stiles asked, as he clapped his hands nervously in front him. Isaac let out a brief, but affected snort, as he paced the room, purposefully  keeping the tension between the two with his dramatics. Without a break in his pacing, his hands behind his back as if he were some sort of detective, Issac got to it: “You know that little incident yesterday? The one in the locker room after lacrosse practice?”

“No, I mean, I don't remember an _incident_ ,” responded Stiles, trying to coyly avoid a discussion he knew was coming either way.

“Yeah.... about that,” said Isaac. “You see, there were only three people in the locker room yesterday: Danny, me, and you,” Isaac ticked off each person on his fingers. “The problem is, Stiles, somehow Derek has suddenly become very concerned about my romantic interests affecting my dedication to the pack, and as far as I can tell, he shouldn't know anything about that, much less be able to mention Danny by name,” Isaac said, his voice starting to develop into a growl.

Stiles was stone-still, but he couldn't hold back the need to gulp. His Adam's apple bobbed down, then up, betraying a tacit admission that perhaps he was not quite guilt-free in the drama Isaac had been describing. He probably didn't even realize it, but he began inching towards his bedroom door. Stiles, who so depended on the benefits of being clever, did not confuse that trait with outright deceit. He did not intend to lie to Isaac. And that's exactly why he wanted to be as close to the door as possible.

“The thing is,” Stiles admitted, “I... I may have told Scott that I saw you and Danny in the shower.” He wrung his hands together, continuing, “It may be that Scott mentioned something to Derek, but I mean, hey, guys take showers together all the time, right?” Stiles let out out a small laugh, while shifting his eyes from side to side, unsure how exactly his honesty was going to affect the other teenager who, already stronger and more assertive than him, also possessed the ability to become a machine of indiscriminate death.

“You fucking idiot!” yelled Isaac, who moved with werewolf speed toward Stiles, pushing him violently against the door. The teenager was stunned into a momentary stupor. “You couldn't keep a secret to yourself! You had to go telling your best friend! And now look where that's gotten me!” Isaac was really, really, seriously, pissed off, and Stiles was terrified.

Isaac's rage relented for the briefest of moments, as he cocked his head to the side in thought, both hands still pinning a squirming Stiles to the door. Suddenly breaking his thoughtful gaze, though, Isaac had a new question on his mind, “What exactly were you doing there in the locker room anyway? We didn't have practice yesterday, and I didn't see you out there training with anyone else. What were you even doing there?”

Stiles looked from side to side, trying to avoid the question at all costs. Isaac suddenly grabbed his shirt, jerking him forward, and then shoving him right back against the door. “Answer me!” he yelled.

“Okay!" Stiles said, squirming against the door, "Okay, the truth is I followed you into the locker room. I was curious because I thought maybe something was going on between you two."

Isaac breathed out a heavy sigh of satisfaction, his suspicions vindicated. He stepped back just a little from Stiles, without releasing his grip. “You know what the trouble is with you, Stiles?” asked Isaac with a malicious-looking grin. Stiles shook his head quickly from side to side, “Maybe I'm too nice?” offered the scared boy, sandwiched between a door and a werewolf. “No,” said Isaac, “Your problem, Stiles, is that you're just a little too curious.”

Stiles let out a sharp gasp, as if trying to release all the stress from his body so that maybe he could compose himself and gain some small amount of control over the situation. _Maybe if I try to reason with him... I'm sure he could be reasonable... If I could just calm him down first..._. He couldn't come up with anything. Stiles, still pinned against the door with two werewolf paws pressing against his chest, raised his hands, as if he were surrendering.  He pleaded with the other boy, “Look, Isaac, I know that...” but the teen was cut off as Isaac removed his hands from Stile's chest and quickly grabbed both of his upraised hands shoving them against the door, and sliding them up above his head. Their faces were now less than an inch apart. _This is not going well_.

Stiles was panicked now. He was breathing rapidly, his head turned to the side, avoiding eye contact with the very much stronger, very angry werewolf. Isaac pushed Stiles hands together, and pinned them to the door with one of his paws.

“Yes, Stiles, you're just a little to curious, aren't you?” growled Isaac into the other boy's ear. “Well, I can be curious too,” Isaac said. He put his free hand against the place between the boy's pajama bottoms and the bottom of his shirt, which was lifted up by his raised arms, exposing his taut, pale stomach. Isaac turned his hand downward, and slid it beneath the other boy's black boxer briefs. Stiles breathed out sharply, his eyes closed now, completely overwhelmed.

“Is this what you were curious about, Stiles?” asked Isaac, with more than just a hint of a mocking tone in his voice. Stiles wanted to resist. He'd followed Isaac and Danny into the locker room to spy on them as they fucked, naked and glorious in the showers. He'd wanted to slink away, undetected, just barely after the gasp of orgasm escaping Danny's mouth. And the poor, virgin Stiles could have lied and said he was just doing research, but Stiles knew he'd just be denying what was so obvious to both of them.

“Yes,” whispered Stiles, almost inaudibly.

“What was that?” asked Isaac, turning his head and moving in even closer.

“Yes, I...I guess I followed you because I wanted you,” admitted the boy.

Isaac laughed, stepping away and releasing Stiles, who now free from the werewolf's grasp, stayed exactly as he was for just a few telling moments. “Well Stiles, if you wanted me, now you have me. I hope it's as good for me as it is for you,” said Isaac, as he lunged forward, grabbing Stiles and hurtling him towards the bed.

Stiles collapsed half on, half off of his bed, face down, and half-expecting what was to come. He felt his pajama bottoms and boxer briefs slide off with a quick jerk from Isaac's powerful hands. His bare ass, pale and firm, was now exposed.

“Say that you want it,” Isaac demandded, bent over Stiles, the two both breathing heavily.

“I want it,” admitted Stiles.

“I know you do, bitch," Isaac hissed, "But the real question, Stiles, is whether you want me or you want the wolf."

Stiles wasn't prepared for that. He took things literally, philosophically, and while this was not the place or the time to be considering that question in such a light, the boy could not help himself. “I want you as you are, Isaac. I want you as both human and wolf,” whispered Stiles, gazing straight ahead.

“Good,” said Isaac, pleased, as he suddenly de-wolfed. His left hand pressed down on Stiles' back while the index finger of his right hand traced the line between his cheeks. Isaac's finger pushed down towards the other boy's hole and briefly circled Stiles' sphincter before jabbing sharply into him. Stiles let out a gasp. “You know, I'm glad for you that you'd like to know both sides of me, because otherwise this would be a lot more painful for you,” said Isaac, his finger rotating slowly inside of Stiles. "And like I said," whispered Isaac into Stiles' ear, "I want this to be good for you, because I know it's going to be good for me." Stiles suddenly shuddered at the thought of a finger becoming a claw, and he thanked himself for having answered well.

Isaac looked over at the night stand next to Stiles' bed and smirked at the sight of a bottle of moisturizer and a box of tissues. “Stay here,” he said, as he jerked his finger out of Stiles' ass. Isaac grabbed the moisturizer and covering two of his fingers with the cream, pushed down on Stiles' back and slowly worked his right hands' digits back into the other teenager's rectum.

Isaac pulled out his two, lube-coated fingers, wiping them unceremoniously on the back of Stile's shirt. He unbuttoned his jeans, lowering them with his boxers, revealing an erect cock of seven inches that popped out once freed from its fabric prison. “I hope you're still curious,” smirked Isaac, as he aimed his cock at Stiles' exposed hole. He slid the head in, slowly easing his way into the other boy. Stiles moaned, but realized that Isaac, despite his rough talk, could have entered him much more brutally than he had.

“Mmmph,” grunted Stiles, as Isaac began ramming into him, first with what seemed like a force driven by revenge, or perhaps simply by meanness. Yet, as the other teen's pumping grew more rhythmic, and as Stiles became attuned to each thrust, he felt himself loosen and the pounding became more bearable, even (maybe) enjoyable.

Isaac continued to lay into Stiles. Looking down on the boy beneath him, he smirked. It seemed like this was something wrong, but he told himself it wasn't. He had always cared for Stiles deep down, in some strange way. Now he was finally taking him; he was taking what belonged to him. He knew the other boy would see his way eventually. _Soon_ , Issac thought, _Stiles won't even remember the name 'Scott.'”_

Isaac was shaken from his thoughts as he felt himself close to finishing. He slowed his rhythm, collecting himself. Then, with a renewed energy, he sped his thrusts, leaning down and encircling Stiles' neck in the crook of his arm, their torsos now parallel on the bed. Then, like a force of nature, Isaac exploded inside of Stiles. Amid the indescribable feeling of orgasm, his cock bathed in the warmth of his seed, now pooling inside of the other boy.

Isaac collapsed on top of Stiles, just for a moment, panting, and breathing hot breaths right next to the other boy's ear. Then, as he lifted himself up, he smirked and quickly nipped the back of Stiles' neck, causing Stiles to give a sharp cry of pain. Isaac left Stiles on the edge of the bed. He grabbed a shirt hanging from the top of the computer chair and used it to wipe off his dick. Throwing it aside, he walked to the bedroom door, opened it, and left. Stiles, still bent over the bed, heard a voice disappearing down the hallway say: “Glad we had the talk. See you in school.”


	2. Scott Would Like A Word

Stiles lay on the bed, exactly how Isaac had left him: bent over the edge of the mattress, with his pajama bottoms pooled around his ankles and his lily-white ass exposed to the world, or at the very least to his room. Stiles hadn't moved for at least five minutes since Isaac had left, although it only seemed like a couple of seconds to the shocked boy, still reeling from the intense encounter.

But eventually Stiles snapped out of his daze and looked over at the clock. It was 7:05. _Fuck_ , he thought. School was at 8:00 AM, and between the morning bell and him was showering, getting dressed, grabbing everything he needed, and driving to school. Stiles briefly contemplated faking his father's voice and calling in sick, but thought better of it. _Okay, I'm a little sore, a lot tired, and definitely not in my head, but I've got to make it to school, and I've got to talk to Scott,_ ” Stiles said to himself calmly, as he ticked off each task.

 He pushed himself off the bed, kicking off the pajamas and boxer briefs encircling his feet. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, throwing it on the bed. Stiles grimaced, realizing that he had just thrown a shirt smeared with a mixture of lubricant and fecal matter onto the place where he slept. He picked up the shirt gingerly, and turning, threw it into the laundry hamper, sinking it into the white mesh basket. If only he could score goals like that in lacrosse.

Stiles let the water warm up in the shower as he sat on the toilet and let out the “gift” Isaac had left for, or rather, in him. He hopped into the shower, but spent only a few minutes under the cleansing cascade which he had suddenly decided to make almost unbearably hot. Stiles dressed himself in dark gray trousers, a light blue t-shirt, and a light-grey sweater that zipped up the front. He grabbed his bag and headed downstairs to his Jeep to make his way to school, all the while pretending he wasn't walking a little bow-legged.

Stiles arrived at the school, and thanks to his quick morning prep, made it on time to his first period class. He had so many things to think about, things he'd put aside in the car. Doing so wasn't something that came easily to him. Stiles knew the way he could wrap himself up in his thoughts, and while normally that would result in the all-to-distracted Stiles everyone knew, driving with this set of problems on board was a recipe for disaster.

Stiles had managed at least to text Scott, not while driving of course, because Oprah said that was bad, but on his way from the parking lot into the school. _I need to talk to you at lunch_ , the text message read. He received one back almost immediately, _Yeah no problem. Let's meet in the library. Is everything okay?_ Stiles didn't want to alarm Scott, so right before entering first period he shot off another text: _Everything's okay, I'll explain when I see you at lunch. Don't worry._

Stiles met Scott in front of the library just as soon as he was released for lunch. “Hey, so what's going on?” Scott asked as he quickly walked up to Stiles. His hands were curled around the straps of his backpack, forcing them towards the center of his chest. He looked genuinely worried. “Let's talk inside the library,” Stiles suggested, reaching his arm around Scott and guiding him towards the modest, but at least somewhat discreet book repository.

 The two made their way to the back of the library, finding a corner with no one visible close by. They took a seat at a table. Scott could tell it was important because instead of Stiles sitting across from him, he sat in the chair immediately next to him.

 “Okay, what's up?” whispered Scott.

Stiles sighed, trying to relieve his stress and figure out how to relay that morning's events to his best friend. _Fuck it_ , he thought. There was no tactful way. How could there be? Why should he have to relate a brutal ass-pounding in the middle of his bedroom, right before school, as tea-time story telling? Scott, who was still waiting for a response, began to get even more concerned as each second passed, while Stiles gazed off into the distance, processing, finally, everything he hadn't permitted himself to think in the short time between the morning's events and his arrival at school.

“Okay,” Stiles started, leaning in towards Scott to keep his voice down, “So... full disclosure, I may have seen Isaac and Danny in the locker room. I've been thinking there was something between the two of them, and I followed them there and may have seen them showering together, and,” Stiles whispered ridiculously softly, “ _they got it on_.” Stiles breathed in deeply, then breathed out, feeling like he'd cleared the first obstacle of a complicated course he was nowhere near completing.

 “So what?” Scott asked, perplexed as to how this required a clandestine lunch-time meeting.

 “Well the thing is, Isaac may have seen me and may have chased me out of the locker room,” admitted Stiles.

 “Okay, I mean... that's not the worst thing ever. Was there, like, some freaky stuff going down, or what? What's got you so worked up?” asked Scott.

 “Well,” hesitated Stiles, “the thing is, Isaac took it pretty seriously, and he kind of came over to my place this morning.” Stiles glanced up at Scott, who was looking directly back at him now, clearly paying a lot more attention.

 “And what?” asked Scott, with a voice that sounded suddenly very dark.

 “Well, he may have called me out on the fact I was spying on them,” admitted Stiles. “I felt kind of guilty about it, because Isaac was really upset, and I admitted, that maybe it was because I was really into him,” the teen offered.

 “Okay,” replied Scott, “So do you need me to help you get with him, or, what?” asked the other teen. “I mean, what is it that you want me to do?” said Scott, starting to sound a little unsure of where this conversation was going.

 “Well, okay, here's the thing. Isaac kind of had sex with me this morning,” Stiles admitted hunching over a little more and whispering again.

 “Was that what you wanted?” asked his friend, a little more curious, now that some of the real details were spilling out.

 “Well, that's what bothers me. I mean, I enjoyed it, I think. But he didn't exactly give me a choice,” said Stiles, looking down at the table.

“What? What do you mean he didn't give you a choice?” Scott blurted out. Then he remembered where he was, and the teen lowered his voice. He whispered, “Are you saying that Isaac may have raped you? Because you realize that it sounds exactly like that's what happened, don't you?”

 “No! No, hold on,” Stiles said, pressing his palms against the edge of the table. “The truth is, I always thought Isaac was attractive,” he admitted. “That's the reason I went into the locker room and spied on Danny and him." He lowered his head into his hands and sighed, suddenly regretting he'd brought the whole thing up.

"Well, I don't think it's really news to anyone that you like him," Scott said.

Stiles blushed between his hands.

 “Did he hurt you?” Scott asked.

 “A little bit, but not as much as he could have,” replied Stiles, not realizing how fucked that answer sounded to Scott, whose squinted a little in disbelief. 

“He was really upset, so I kind of understood,” Stiles explained. He raised his head out of his hands and cocked his head to one side, as he suddenly remembered the nip that Isaac had given him before leaving, “He did kind of nip at the back of my neck before he left. Does a nip turn someone into a werewolf? I mean, is it like a scratch, where it has to be deep for it to turn you?”

 Scott reached his hand behind Stiles' neck and probably out of panicked worry, roughly jerked Stiles' head downward so he could get a look. _Phew, it doesn't look worse than a hickey_ , thought Scott, as he let go of his friend who popped back up like some kind of pale jack-in-the-box. “No, it looks like he didn't pierce the skin,” Scott said, assuring Stiles that, in fact, he was still safely 100% human. Stiles breathed out a heavy sigh, albeit one of mixed emotions at the news.

 Scott was in his own space now, pushing back his chair and throwing on his backpack. Stiles parroted his friend's actions automatically, not sure what the meaning behind his friend's abrupt decision to end their conversation was supposed to mean. “Wait, where are we going?” asked Stiles. Scott broke out from underneath his cascading thoughts, and turning to Stiles, placing his hand on the other boy's shoulder. He took a step closer, trying to reassure and comfort his buddy. “Listen, Stiles, I don't want you to worry about this. I'm going to take care of everything. Just finish up school, or take a sick day and go home and rest, no one would blame you, but just sit tight, and I'll let you know when I sort things out.”

 Scott turned and walked quickly out of the library, leaving a Stiles, who was speechless and somewhat disoriented by how quickly things had just happened. Stiles suddenly wondered if he had made a huge mistake. _Well,_ he thought, _either way, it's out of my hands now_. He quickly decided he'd better go ahead and go home for the rest of the day. He felt better for having been able to confide in someone, but the whole thing felt hollow.  Events were now unfolding, events apparently had no say in, but were supposedly being done for him. The thought of what might happen, and that it was out of his hands, made him feel resigned and helpless.  Mostly though, he just felt tired.

 A few hours later, just before school was done, Isaac's pocket vibrated. Looking down furtively at his phone concealed beneath his desk, he saw a text from Scott. _Hey Isaac, my boss has some photos of wolf patterns he wants Derek to look at. Could you stop by the clinic after school and get them?_ Isaac shrugged, texting a quick _sure_ , back to Scott. He was headed to the loft after school anyway. Stopping by wouldn't be a problem.

 Scott headed as fast as he could over to the veterinary clinic after school. He knew he only had a little time to bring Deaton up to speed, and he wasn't sure how much difference in time hauling ass on his scooter would make before Isaac would arrive on his bike. Hoping to buy himself some extra time, he'd enlisted the help of Lydia in his plan, and as a good friend, she'd agreed, even though she didn't know exactly what she was helping with.

 Scott rushed into the vet's office, and Deaton looked up, startled by his assistant's abrupt entrance. “Is everything okay, Scott?” he asked

 “Not exactly,” replied the boy. Scott explained everything he'd learned as well as his hastily devised plan. Deaton, who calmly listened without saying a word, restricted his reaction to an occasional nod to indicate he was, at least, following along.

 “...And that's why,” Scott concluded, trying to catch his breath, “Isaac's on his way over here any moment and I'm going to teach him a lesson in manners. Will you help me?” The teen finally paused, panting just a little for the air he'd needed but had sacrificed to get his story out. He looked at Deaton, who wore an absolutely indiscernible gaze. _What is he thinking?!?_ thought Scott.

 “Scott, it's come time you've learned that violence isn't the answer to every single problem in the world,” said Deaton with his wise, calming voice. “But...” interrupted Scott. “But,” Deaton said, holding up his hand to silence the boy, “it's also time you learned that sometimes being a man means laying a motherfucker out.” Scott was shocked, his face freezing momentarily in an expression of disbelief, then slowly letting out the slightest of smiles.

 Isaac peddled up to the vet clinic and parked his bike. He'd meant to get there sooner, but Lydia, acting really strangely, caught him before he left school and was asking him all these questions about werewolf packs. _Why didn't she ask Scott?_ _Whatever,_ thought the teen. It was fifteen minutes out of his life. The boy walked inside the lobby, but no one was manning the front desk. That was typical though, because often, Deaton was busy working in the back. Isaac heard Deaton's voice from the operating room: “Isaac! Is that you? Come on through. I'm just finishing up in here, but I've got those photos to give you!”

 Isaac made his way into the surgery, pausing just past the entryway. Deaton was at the sink washing his hands. The vet looked over his shoulder, “Oh good Isaac, it is you. Give me just a second and I'll grab those photos for you. I do appreciate you stopping by to get them.”

 “No problem, I can get them,” said Isaac, shrugging without a thought, as he started to walk towards Deaton and the manila envelope laying next to the sink. Just as Isaac passed the chemical locker, he saw a movement out of the corner of his right eye. But before he could react, that blurry movement turned into a fist. _Boom!_ Scott sucker-punched the other teen right in the face, sending Isaac falling to the floor.

 Scott moved out from the corner formed by the wall and the locker where he'd hidden. He advanced towards the other teen he'd just decked (like a boss). Isaac looked up from the tiled floor and tried to scramble back to krrp his distance from the other, more powerful wolf. Scott halted his advance, his arm drawn back, ready to throw another punch. Isaac panicked and looked from Scott to Deaton, who stood by the sink, arms crossed, smugly watching.

 “You! You're in on this?” he asked with hurt accusation, looking right into Deaton's eyes.

 “I think it's time you learned a lesson about messing with another wolf's bro,” said Deaton, his voice not displaying even a tiny amount of sympathy.

 Isaac, with a face that still betrayed his panic, looked from Deaton back to Scott, who was frozen in place, ready to punch the other boy if he came at him. Something snapped in Isaac, and as he looked to Scott, he smirked, and then that smirk became a laugh. He looked back at Deaton and in a mocking, cocky voice said, “You must really care about Scott, or maybe you've just never seen what a wolf fight can do to a place. I promise you though, however this turns out, I'll make sure I spend as much time wrecking your clinic as I do wrecking your boy here.” Isaac wore a shit-eating grin, reveling in what he thought was the vet's foolishness for letting two werewolves have it out in his operating room. Then, ready to attack, Isaac shifted.

 “Actually,” said Deaton uncrossing his arms, revealing a pistol in his right hand, “I thought about that.” The vet leveled the gun at the wolf and shot him with enough tranquilizer to paralyze a horse. Deaton looked over at Scott as Isaac slowly collapsed onto the floor, desperately trying to stay awake. “It'll only keep him under for a little bit. Truthfully, I don't know how long. Take him out back and do what you have to. I'll leave you to it,” said Deaton. He crossed the room and paused just before passing Isaac. He looked down at the now-unconscious boy and swiftly kicked him in the side. “Prick,” he muttered. He handed Scott the tranquilizer gun and then exited the surgery.

 Isaac slowly opened his eyes. Wherever he was, it was mostly dark, pierced by lines of sunlight shining through horizontal cracks between boards of wood. He was chained, naked as the day he was born. His hands were pulled above his head, stretching him out between the floor and the rafter of the shed into which Scott had dragged his unconscious body. Isaac started to see things a little more in focus, and noticed a vague shadow that resembled a person. That person was Scott, who seeing Isaac wake up, stood up from his chair. Isaac saw Scott's face come into focus. Then all of the sudden, felt a shattering pain, as Scott, pulling his arm back, punched Isaac square in the nose, breaking it with a crunch.

 Isaac let loose a high-pitched cry that transformed into a deep growl, and then an ear-piercing howl as he shifted. His eyes glowed yellow. He gnashed his teeth, suddenly struggling against his bonds with an amazing force. Scott stepped back, calm and confident, and he sat himself down in the metal folding chair he'd used to wait for the tranquilized teen to re-awaken.

 Isaac continued to thrash around before finally calming down, resigned to heavy breathing and huffing mixed with a murderous glare directed at his captor. Scott watched the other boy, before finally getting up again, and approaching him with an eery calmness. “I know you're not the brightest ever, Isaac, but you _do_ know why you're here, don't you?” Scott asked. Isaac refused to answer, at least with words. His eyes said plenty though.

 “Because you hurt my best friend!” yelled Scott, wolfing, and swiping his claws across Isaac's stomach, cutting ribbons across his pale skin. Isaac howled in pain. It was exactly the sort of scratch it was meant to be, not meant to kill, just to cause him pain. Scott pushed himself right up against the other boy, grabbing him by the neck, fingers on either side of his jaw to control the wolf's violent jerking. “Stop,” whispered Scott into Isaac's ear. He said nothing more, and after a moment the wolf calmed down. Isaac shifted back, and after a few seconds so did Scott.

 Scott moved behind Isaac, and pressing up against him, he placed his head on Isaac's right shoulder. Scott wrapped his right arm around the boy, hugging him, and reached his left hand around, grasping Isaac's cock, which he began to gently stroke. Isaac could feel the warmth of Scott's hand and the slow accumulation of blood beginning to swell his dick.

 Isaac's eyes were closed now, his mind distracted by the pain of his broken nose and the cuts across his stomach, but also focused on the present pleasure of Scott's touch. Scott continued to slowly massage and work Isaac's cock, and with a darkly sweet voice, whispered in Isaac's ear, “Stiles is my best friend, and I'd do anything for him. Do you understand?”

 “Mhmmmm,” moaned Isaac, his eyes still closed, entranced by the touch of the other boy.

 “Good,” said Scott. “Now, do you know what you did wrong?” he asked, now sounding somewhat condescending.

 Isaac groaned, enveloped in the intense mixture of sensations. “He... he wanted it. I asked him, and he told me he did,” the boy explained.

 Scott's rhythm paused for just the briefest of seconds. He'd suddenly realized he'd never let Stiles really explain everything: how he felt: how he was feeling, what he wanted. He broke the brief pause and continued to stroke the other teen, replying, “You asked him while you were a werewolf, and he was a human. Does that seem fair? Do you even know if he was being honest, or if he just said yes, because he was terrified?”

 Isaac realized Scott might have a point, and it was something to consider, maybe. In any case that was something for after all this was over. The pleasure from the other teen's hand made this a conversation for another time. He moaned again, engulfed in sensation, feeling that he might cum at any moment.

 Scott could sense that Isaac was close to orgasm. He demanded, now, more forcefully, “Do you realize you were wrong? Do you apologize?”

 The other teen was so close, so, so close.

“No,” Isaac whispered.

 Scott shook his head, and could feel Isaac on the absolute verge of cumming. He stopped his pumping, his left hand now resting at the head of the other boy's cock. He suddenly lifted the shaft up, while his right hand, previously holding onto Isaac's stomach, flew out, and forming into a fist, fell back, punching Isaac's exposed balls. If Isaac could have doubled over he would have. The pain was incredible.

 “I'm done with you,” said Scott, moving aside and walking back towards the chair.

 “You're not going to get away with this,” spat Isaac, as he tried to recover from the excruciating agony of a merciless nutting, so painful, it had transformed him back into a werewolf.

 “Yeah, well, we'll see about that,” said Scott, sitting down in the chair and reaching into his bag. Scott pulled out the tranquilizer gun and shot Isaac as non-chalantly as Deaton had.

 Fifteen minutes later, Scott dumped Isaac, still unconscious, onto the sidewalk in front of Derek's loft and sped away in the clinic's van. Scott texted Derek, _One of your pack is waiting outside for you_. He drove back to the clinic, got his scooter, and drove home.

Derek Hale was sitting in his loft, bathed in the natural light of the large paned window that dominated the room. He sat on the couch, enjoying peace and solitude he'd only experienced a handful of times in the last few weeks. He'd taken a chance of foregoing his heightened sense of hearing by placing some earbuds into his ears to relax with some music. Derek breathed a deep sigh and leaned back into the couch, enveloped by Chopin's Nocturne Op. 32. The sounds of Guiomar Novaes' piano filled his ears and sent him to another place, a place far, far away. _Damn, that bitch could play_ , he thought, closing his eyes and enjoying the moment.

But Derek was quickly jolted from his long-awaited time to himself by a vibrating phone. _Goddammit_ , he thought. _Ten fucking minutes of being alone, is that so much to ask_ ? he pleaded with no one but himself. He picked up his phone. It was a text from Scott. _Huh_ , he grunted, opening the message. _One of your pack is waiting outside for you._ Derek looked up from his phone, _Why would Scott be texting me about that?_  He realized something was up, dropped his phone, and bolted towards the stairs.

Seconds later Derek burst out the building. He'd gotten to the last flight of stairs and by then knew the member of his pack was Isaac, he could smell his scent from there. Sure enough, laying on the sidewalk in plain daylight was a huddled mass, covered in a gray blanket, a curly head of hair the only confirmation that Derek was right. Derek looked up. A couple was standing a few feet away, completely in shock. The woman, with cell phone in hand, asked her husband, “Should I call the police?” Derek waved his hand in panic, “No! no, that's okay. He's a homeless kid. I've seen him before. I work at the shelter down the street. I'll get him cleaned up.”

Derek scooped the boy up in his arms and carried him inside. “Goddammit, Isaac, what did you get yourself into this time?” Derek asked, not really expecting a reply. The boy was waking up though, and hearing his alpha, managed a disoriented reply. “I'm sorry, Derek,” he muttered. Derek just shook his head, frustrated, as he lay the boy down to open the door to the loft, then picking the boy back up, carried him inside to place him on the bed.


End file.
